IchiRuki drabbles
by Blueberry Absinth
Summary: A set of IchiRuki drabbles, all kinds of genres, title WILL be changed, 6th one: When they first met, the ribbon of her sword locked their hands and pushed them into an endless tango... introspective
1. Broken Dishes

**Since I've been hit by a IchiRuki idea-tide, I'll be doing a series of drabbles for them ^.^ Will not be connected unless mentioned C: All sorts of genres**

**Discl.: Me no own Bleach xD**

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Ichigo used to be very worried that when he ended high school and moved from the town to probably go study in a more prestigious university than the local ones, Rukia would go back to the Soul Society, waltz away from his life just as it began to be perfect. He'd spend nights turning around in his bed, twisting the sheets, thinking, trying to imagine how it'd be the life of university and then adulthood without seeing his friends as often. He'd think and try and then the blankets will be bundled up and then she'd come from the closet and beat him up because 'I can't sleep with you awake and moving, you idiot.'

The size of his relief when he understood that she'd go with him to the same university, no matter which it was, surprised even him. Not that anyone noticed. Well, probably she noticed too (after all, what didn't Rukia notice?), but didn't say anything regardless. He was happy, really, really happy that she'd be with him, even if the reason for her staying back was 'to continue the research for the Soul Society.' Even with that.

Of course they'd have to kick some nice Hollow ass (what was life without action?) and such stuff but all the big threats have been eliminated. It was nice to think that way.

However enrolling in the same university had been hard. Apart from them not agreeing to the type university, their majors, and getting into a yelling fight while Ishida and Inoue and Chad were covering their ears in exasperation, the exam they chose was hard. Well, for Ichigo anyway. Because he was sure Rukia had a small device that connected her to the geniuses of her homeland (of course that wasn't true, she later reasoned with him, would she taint the dignity of the Kuchiki family in such a way? That even he thought as a reasonable excuse.)

That wasn't the end of the problems. The university they enrolled in was quite hard and soon they found themselves unable to stand up from all the homework waiting to be done and lessons to be learned. They barely had time to eat – not to mention tend to the small apartment. And so it wasn't a big surprise when one day they woke up without any clean dishes. And it was a day with not as much homework. Damn his luck.

Ichigo stared at the pile in the sink. It looked terrifying. Now that he had almost nothing to do, it looked too big and smelly to be ignored. He batted away a random fly.

"Rukia?"

"Hmmm?" she was drawing something intently again and apparently wasn't paying attention to him. Again. Damn girl.

"Wash the dishes."

Startled out of her reverie, the girl put away the pen and looked up to him, eyes incredulous. Said eyes then travelled to the unfortunate pile, then switched them to him, then to the pile again and finally to him.

"What?" probably she intended the question to be intimidating, like some sort of an old woman, who was too lazy to stand up. Her look was sort of scary, though. But Ichigo hadn't cut through so many opponents for nothing. He had courage.

Yeah, right.

"I told you to wash the dishes," he repeated, fuming a little at her. After all she was the girl – what did she expect? He. To do the dishes? That was a funny thought.

"And why should I do that?" she brushed away a black strand with all the dignity she could muster and batted away another flies. Seriously, where did these come from? It wasn't like it was boiling hot.

"Well," Ichigo trailed on, a sense of 'duh' lacing his tone, "You're the woman in the household, after all."

A small vein popped on her forehead and her eyes narrowed.

"So what if I'm a woman? How does that affect things?"

"A normal woman will stay home and tend to the house, which includes dishwashing!"

"I'm not a normal woman, after all," she pouted and crossed her arms, glaring at him. Her peaceful drawing was now interrupted and she couldn't return to it. Great. Just great. Perfect.

"Yeah," he just snickered, "you're a woman with a boy's body."

"You. Just. Did. Not. Go. There."

…

Mr. Kimura was a peaceful, nice, overall the perfect employee of the dishware shop he was working on. He had the perfect charisma and the sweetest of voices – with that combination he was able to ease up any sort of client, even the grumpiest. That, paired up with his excellent memory, made the monetary amount of the shop rise to the heavens of the charts – clients always returned to him.

Of course he remembered that strange pair. They were strange in every way – the boy wasn't acting gentlemanly toward the girl, but she wasn't all sunshine and smiles. The two had almost resorted to violence, but a small remark of him had stopped them. Not only were they a challenge to his career of calming people, but the girl (who was apparently the commander) had strange tastes too – she'd fallen in love with a bunny dishware that Mr. Kimura thought he'd never see sold.

Later on, he heard the women comment on how romantic their relationship looked; that they were married for sure. He had been very confused back then.

So it wasn't that hard to remember those two. But it was a hard not to be surprised when they showed up so soon.

He looked up and, trying to hide his shock, smiled at them. The boy looked as though he was shouting to the floor to open up and swallow him already, and the girl looked sulky and pouty.

"Back so soon? What happened?"

The girl (it was sort of funny how she was the 'man' of their relationship, whatever it was, while he was considerably taller and more muscular than her) looked away, eyes skipping longingly around the shelves, but never finding that bunny set they bought last time (it was unique, there was no other bunnies in the market of dishware).

"We broke the set," she said with a sad undertone, as if she was mourning for the bunnies and the hares.

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**Review?**


	2. Grey Bunnies and Unfortunate Cups

**Guys are perverts 'sigh'**

It was torture. Pure torture.

Ichigo took a deep breath. He shouldn't be thinking such things. He was just being unreasonable again. After all, there was simply no way that this action was designed specifically to torment him, right?

… No, that was not true! It was an agony, crafted out with care with the idea to infuriate and embarrass him to no end as the only thought in mind! Whoever created it, was a clever and a sneaky bastard to have thought up such an intelligent way of making him (and men in general) feel this uncomfortable and still make it seem like it was a tradition in hygiene and home rituals, passed down in the centuries! But no, no one, no matter how genius he (or she) was, could fool him, Ichigo Kurosaki, current Substitute Death Reaper, college student and healthy young adult!

Apparently someone wanted the last title (the most important) to change into something not so well sounding as it currently was. Someone wanted to spoil, to destroy his reputation of a man, to annihilate him, to beat him down to eat the dust. Just with that simple action.

Rukia wasn't the culprit. The midget was far too stupid to think up a great plot like this despite the fact that she was probably old enough to have started it. But she'd once told him she'd never expected to run into him and form a bond so that was sort of impossible.

Of course, if Rukia had the age to be the culprit, then it was possible for Aizen to have done that. A sneaky bastard, who was able to create plots for a hundred years away in the future, in the time frame of a day… Yes, that was possible. Actually, more than possible. It was sure that it was Aizen... Good now, he had someone to curse while doing it.

With words that'd make Yuzu go red and scold him for language, Ichigo lifted up the tray with wet clothes and reasoned with himself that if he did it faster, it'd go away faster. Yes, that's the spirit! Go, hang those clothes and get over with it and then go beat up Rukia for making him do it!

With higher spirits, he went out, on the small balcony to finish that damn job?

And what was that damned job? What was that strange thing that carried a fear that seeped into the hearts of young men with courage, such as him?

The answer was simple.

Hanging out wet clothes.

That… that was a nightmare. That was a humiliation. To do this was a disgrace to every creature that owned a Y chromosome.

With a sigh, Ichigo mentally beat up the last pieces of his mind that still fought and went on to doing what had to be done. If he was going to shame himself then, it was better to do it fast, right?

His hands, the hands that had defeated so many, that had saved so many, trembled as he took out the first clothing (which was fortunately his) from the pile. His eye twitched as he stepped toward the dryer. His dignity shattered as the trouser fell in its place.

"See, it wasn't that hard, right," he reasoned with himself, "Just your pride shatters every time, but that's nothing, right?"

He took a... shirt this time and did the same, his mind squirming despite all the reasoning he did. Then the same was repeated, then again, then once again. In a few seconds, he was over with five clothes

Good. If he continued that way, he'd be done in no time.

In a few seconds he'd already established a certain rhythm and it became sort of a routine to take the thing, turn to the dryer and put it there. It was… sort of comforting, just like any activity that required to repeat certain actions. The hands were used to what they were doing and the mind was free to roam the Amazing Plains of Dreamland. Of course, the Amazing Plains of Dreamland weren't as nice as usual, but it was better than nothing.

It was easy to forget all those issues while redoing the cycle of take-put-turn. It wasn't uncomfortable or anything – after all he was looking at his own clothes. There was nothing strange in doing that…

His eyes blinked as the object of clothing in his hands came into focus. A millisecond later, he regretted coming back from his Dreamland. As it was before, he felt the sudden urge to curse somebody. However, since there was no one to blame but himself, the words were directed toward his eyes. After all, they were the ones who focused right on… the _thing_ in his hands (which were by now, trembling but grasping tightly on the article of clothing), weren't they? They were the nasty traitors who actually allowed him to look at the… _thing_.

In front of Ichigo, clutched in his hands, stood something that was a challenge to his status of a healthy young adult. The aura it emitted was purely evil.

A bra.

Not just any bra – with fine lace attached to the edge, a soft grey colour and a small bunny embroidered (not printed, embroidered) on the left… off,_ cup_. Since when did such a normal word sounded so… so pervert? It was… ewww, just strange and gross.

Great now, he was acting like a small kid. Eww this, eww that. He had to be a grown up, a guy who was a responsible adult. Or acted like on, at the very least. He mustn't act like the midget.

And, speaking of midgets, since when was Rukia able to wear such a big cup?

A second too late, Ichigo realized two things.

One: he had too big an imagination.

Two: that question was too much for mentioned imagination and sanity.

…

'Huh?" Rukia looked up from what she was doing to look at a very distressed Ichigo who was holding his nose and apparently searching for something. Had he hit himself or something?

The small girl sighed and looked at him, searching for something, really quickly finding the small trail of blood coming from his nose. Dear, she had left him for a second or so and he already injured himself. Pfff, men. What to do with them?

"Don't," he warned just as she stood up to help him. He grabbed a random kitchen towel, wetted it and wiped whatever he had under his nose. Okay, there was no need to help him.

He crashed in the other chair, "Rukia?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not doing this anymore."

**Sometimes I wonder what kind of nonexistent crack my nonexistent sense of humor has taken...**


	3. as tender and strong as silk

**Shorter and serious... xD

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**

It hadn't come out as a surprise.

One day Rukia had just strolled out of her bedroom, waltzed up to him, showed him a small sketchbook and told him to open it. He had listened to her, opening the sketchbook and had got a good share of laughing his ass off at all the bunnies that were adorning each page. In turn she had beat him up and drawn fake mustaches on him.

See? Just the same old routine.

"I'll try to publish this in the living world," she'd then said and that was when things ran away from the routine. He'd exploded in laughter again and yet again she'd abused him until he was as silent as silent ever got.

Then, still annoyed, she'd even grumbled that she'd asked Ishida to make the costumes. Having gotten his lesson, he hadn't said anything, nor laughed, just thought that it was a stupid thing to do. While she was a hit in the Soul Society (where everyone had a good laugh of the quality of the drawings and a good share of knowledge about this world), the competition in the real world was hu-uge.

And her manga had been a hit. And still was.

Ichigo read in magazines that provided critics on mangas that were being read now, that Rukia's manga was the perfect mix of fighting, humor and angst. The characters were well developed, the plot well thought out. And the art… and the art was a refreshing new genre. Oh, how much time he laughed when he read that!

And as that stupid midget was receiving tons and tons of money, he thought that some problems might arise from her not actually existing in Japan's papers but, no-o, everything was all right. It made him think how big Soul Society's influence was in the real world.

And what annoyed him the most, was that their (his!) apartment was completely covered with bunnies. Bunnies here, bunnies there. He was already sick of them and Rukia's obsession with them (even though it amused him to no end when he annoyed her with them) but she brought home more and more bunnies until everything was covered with bunnies. Bunnies were now a killing machine: trip over one and wonder where you'd be hurt and whether the injury would be life-threatening.

But, as he watched her happy face and the new sway into her pace, he found out he couldn't be annoyed. Rather, he was happy with her.

Rukia was bound to this world by yet another thing.


	4. It's safe to say but I won't

**For cheesyfreezy who's pretty angry at Kubo at the moment and needs her IchiRuki dose xD Hope you are alive, dear :3**

**Practically written for 5 minutes xD **

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**

The first week was hard.

There was no dark hair in his field of vision, there were no violet eyes to observe and scrutinize him. There were no punches and kicks to prove herself right, nor any other abuse for whatever reason. She wasn't there for him to complain about whatever was on his mind, wasn't there to ask him what he meant and then make him answer the question. She wasn't there for random Hollow calls and interesting conversations. No bunnies, no drawing on his face. His room looked empty and his closet looked too big without her makeshift bedroom.

In short, an Ichigo with no shinigami powers fucking missed Rukia. A lot.

In the afternoons, as he tried to concentrate on his studies, the room would suddenly get so big and so quiet and_ unbearable _that he would stand up and start pacing like crazy, trying to make more and more noise, to fill the void, make it go away, but he couldn't really (never could, never would), achieving nothing but a whine from Karin about noise and a polite motherly advice about concentrating on studying harder from Yuzu. And, in the end, each session of walking would end in him gloomily returning to his spot behind the desk and trying to get some studying done.

"These studies are important, I have to have good grades, I need this to continue on with my life and job," he would rant to himself in order to make himself study more, but he couldn't really; he couldn't really find a reason to continue studying and then on making a career, because, in the end, he'd lose everything, right? Everything he'd worked for his whole life would be gone, crushed, in one moment, as he died.

His father would look at him and shake his head, in a moment of being half-serious and whisper to himself something about 'young love'. But Ichigo found himself disagreeing – he wasn't so depressed just because he loved her in his father's sense (and he sure did).

No. It wasn't about that. If he lost any of his teammates, any of his friends, Ichigo would mourn, oh yes, he would mourn. But not like this. This was different.

If he lost someone else, Rukia would be right to his side, offering a comforting kick and a word of wisdom, stolen from Ukitake-taicho. Then she'd smirk and annoy him and he'd get angry and they'd start arguing and everything else. Rukia was the only one who could get him out of the twister of his emotions. For him, she was more than a friend, more than a lover – he doubted language was that developed to have the word he was trying to describe.

At night, he would twist and turn in his bed and then, after an hour or so, he would go to his closet and sleep there, despite the fact that it was too small for him. In the morning he'd feel like shit physically but emotionally he'd feel a little contented.

…

The second week was even worse.

Her scent, sweet, feminine and comforting like white lilies, was already being overwhelmed by his scent. He would find himself feeling more and more restless in the room, the void getting bigger and bigger, so enormous it'd just swallow him-

And that was the moment he'd go out in a flurry of anger and sadness, not even noticing his family worrying about him. He just didn't care.

He stopped seeing as much people as before, even his former teammates. They would just try to comfort him, failing epically and he'd just be reminded of Rukia.

Inoue would try to talk with him, try to act like her usual goofy self but he knew better; he knew she had scars from the past battle and was furiously trying to hide them, but he saw right through everything.

He had once told her to stop acting so damn happy and just be sad just like it had it be. She'd stopped talking and looked at him, a mixture of incredulousness and quiet sadness on her face and he'd answered with a half-glare, half-something sarcastic he didn't have the capacity of naming.

Then Ishida had come into the conversation and snapped to Ichigo to not take out his anger on Inoue. He'd been adamant and the two of them broke into an argument he felt he'd needed for quite some time.

During their whole exchange, Chad hadn't said anything but Ichigo could feel his thoughtful gaze boring into his head, and then into his soul, reading him almost as easily as Rukia. Almost.

In the end of the second week, Ichigo went to a zoo shop and bought a small, black rabbit. When they asked him who it was for, he plastered his best fake smile and answered it was for his sister.

…

The third week was unbearable.

He couldn't find any place with a trace of Rukia anymore. It was as if she'd disappeared. Evaporated into thin air, which she actually did, as he noted later on with irony bitter in his mouth. Away. Gone. Somewhere far away. Just like that one time so long ago.

(Because he was as stupid as the usual male, he hadn't thought about the situations when he could have gone to her realm. He really hadn't.)

The little black rabbit was now safely in a cage in his sisters' room but he was the one feeding it, keeping it company and from time to time talking to it. He felt it understood him better than most humans. Its name was Tsuki, meaning moon and Ichigo hadn't appreciated the irony when Yuzu decided its name and Karin agreed.

He had asked why a black rabbit should be called something that was famous with its white colour; Yuzu had shrugged and answered it felt right to her and proceeded to call it like that. Ichigo had shaken his head, looked at the rabbit and wondered why he was reminded of moon-lit lakes, quiet and comforting, of storms, brash wind beating the waves.

It was October and it hadn't stopped raining for weeks.

…

It had been thirty days, eight hours and a half since she had vanished from his life (he was actually counting the seconds too, when things became too much to bear, but he mentioned that to no one). It was a normal October Saturday, cloudy and gloomy but at least it wasn't raining.

There were children outside, Ichigo could hear their voices, happy that, at least for a little the rain had stopped, while he couldn't muster the strength to even pretend anymore.

He wondered what the others did. Ishida and Inoue were probably together for some dorky sewing marathon or something, Inoue unable to do anything and pouring her heart out, suddenly clumsy fingers hasty and nervous, and Ishida listening intently and offering quiet words of comfort (Ichigo found he was a little jealous of Inoue: she had someone to listen to her, while he didn't; the one who had that role was now gone, out of his reach, like so many other things).

Chad was most probably home, playing on his guitar and worrying about him (poor guy, Ichigo mused, Chad had chosen such bad friends; ones that would never give him the opportunity to comfort them).

Sighing, Ichigo stood up, decided that he needed to feed the rabbit and went to the door. He jumped down the stairs slowly, two at a time, without making any sound and so he startled Yuzu and Karin who were been gossiping in hushed voices on the kitchen table.

Already forgotten that he'd decided to feed the rabbit, he proceeded to pour himself some juice, ignoring his sisters, who were still gossiping but were watching him for sure. His sisters had known that there was something wrong with him ever since day one but they never said anything, just coated their words of comfort in random ramblings, whining and advices

Only when he was returning to his room, up the stairs, did he remember that he was supposed to feed the rabbit but it was too late to return now and he really didn't want unknown people dancing on his big brother's instinct. So he decided to just go to see it without feeding it – it was fat enough now.

He stopped in front of his sisters' room, hesitated for a second (he always did in front of a lady's room) then stepped in and stopped again. Something wasn't right. A little too much shadows. Something like… soft cooing. A smile in the air.

There was someone in his room. His head snapped around, looking for the culprit, soon finding him – her actually – just by the cage of the rabbit. His fists tightened – he wasn't going to let this friend of his be stolen. But it seemed he knew the culprit. His eyes widened as he observed black hair and a small frame. A small gasp that came from his mouth alerted the strange-but-not-quite. A tiny head lifted up and brown eyes widened as they met with familiar violet.

There was a dull crash as his glass fell down, juice splattering everywhere but neither of them cared. A strange silence ascended onto them.

He just couldn't believe what he saw, even with her in front of his eyes. She might as well be a vision, a hallucination borne from his inner desire to meet her. He might as well have not slept well and be sleep walking.

She wasn't moving at all, just staring at him, as if waiting him to start. Waiting him to try to touch her so that she'd disappear.

They were enveloped in silence for a few minutes, either one waiting for the other something until…

"Have you eaten your tongue when I was gone?" her voice was as sarcastic as ever, as normal as ever, as though she'd never left in the first place. It sounded as though she wasn't an illusion.

"H-how?" he managed to stutter out, "How can I see you?"

There was a hope gnawing at his insides, eating away his organs like a disease, making his mind hope too much for his own good and he didn't want to be confused so much, hating (loving) it so much when he heard her laugh. He'd never thought that he'd hear that sound once more before he died.

His eyes roamed over her face, watching in wonder how her nose wrinkled, how her eyes screwed, and he wondered why he was reminded of lilies.

"Idiot, so you did forget," she was now grinning and as she glanced over to his face, there was the similar sarcastic twinkle he was used to; she pinched her arm, face frowning "I'm in gigai at the moment. Just I had to have a new one made; that's why I'm so late."

His muscles relaxed a little, angering him – he still wasn't sure what was in front of him, Rukia or a hallucination. He wasn't supposed to relax when he didn't know whether he'd wake up alone the next day or not. He winced at the thought of this being an illusion.

"I really hadn't thought about that," Rukia was now rambling, "Actually, Nii-sama gave me that idea. He was- Huh?"

In a moment, he'd appeared in front of her, arms coming to rest on her shoulders. His mind and body and everything almost melted when they didn't go through the arm. She was real.

A sigh escaped his lips.

"Ichigo…" the black-haired girl drawled on, insecure an confused, "What is it? How've you been these weeks? What were you doing? Ichigo? Man, did you even eat properly?"

He grinned as she fussed over him and took his time sinking everything in. He wasn't alone now. Rukia was here. Everything was all right.

Without caring about anything, he whipped his head up and _laughed_.

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**Ehh, Kubo, angsty, angsty, but there's still a small escape door, leading to cliche fanfics :P**


	5. Soldier boy 1

…_my legs won't ever be cold again; they'll be warm between her thighs…_

…

…

…

Ichigo stared gloomily at the sky outside of the train window. Its colour was an awful grey, with clouding hanging onto the firmament; they promised rain, a hard and long downpour but they still hadn't come to doing it. That resulted into an oppressive atmosphere and lack of brightness anywhere.

The hills the train was passing through were dark green which was very weird since it was the beginning of spring and dark was never in the palette of spring. Various black buildings dotted the horizon but did nothing to elevate the feeling of murk in the air.

After making all those observations, Ichigo felt even worse.

Not only had his pride been damaged beyond repair in the past week, not only had he lost his place of honour and all his friends, but now the weather dared be bad! His life was great. Just great. Perfect.

So perfect that he wanted to cry out to the heavens, curse everything and everyone, then find a good cave and slowly die there.

The view of the inside of the train carriage wasn't any better. What was this weird fascination with clothes fit for a funeral? All the people travelling were dressed in comfortable-looking, dark clothes – the ones you'd usually wear for a trip – but there was no one with light colours, something more pastel-looking and soothing for the eye. But noooo, the universe had to make his life worse and annoy him to oblivion.

Damn it all.

The thing was, Ichigo was fired.

Fired from the dream job he'd wanted to do ever since his childhood, had aspired to do through his school years and had worked so hard to achieve. Fired. Just like that.

He'd managed to reach the rank of a lieutenant before that fateful day. A LIEUTENANT!

It had been maddening to watch all his dreams go down, in the span of a few hours… Gone, just with a few words… all this hard work…

"Mister?"

He was visibly shaking now and probably that bringing attention to himself. It wasn't a good idea to do so; maybe, even without being a soldier, he could still use the skills he's learned.

"Helloo, mister?"

Ichigo jumped when a hand was waved in front of his face. He was already grabbing at the little boy's hand but then he remembered that both of them were civilians and neither of them wanted to hurt the other so he subtracted his palm as fast as he could. Though the boy had already noticed and was now watching him in amazement.

"You were soo fast, mister! Are you a hunter?"

Hunters were special units that young boys loved and looked up to. Ichigo just shook his head and scowled: for him, hunters were a buncha wimps. But he didn't say anything: the boy didn't have to know all his thoughts.

"No, I'm not."

"Really? Okay, but then you've definitely been in the army! Right?" the older man couldn't help but grin at his antics; the boy possessed an enthusiasm that brightened up any day, no matter how gloomy.

But damn, did that question stick a nerve.

"Used to be."

His voice quivered a little as the curt answer was delivered, but really; it was better than what he expected; he surely didn't sound as though his dreams ever since proper thought were crushed, right?

Yay.

The boy wrinkled his nose up in sympathy.

"And why did you leave?"

"… Didn't leave. Was fired," his eyebrow twitched at the mention of his failure.

And why was he telling all this to a random 11-year old?

… Was he that pathetic?

… Damn.

During that time the boy had 'ahh'-ed in amazement as he'd found out his new idol failed at life and was now in the middle of a rant. Ichigo decided to ignore him and wait for the eventual questions.

"And so… I guess you are going home now?"

"Pretty much, yeah," he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. He'd asked the authorities to warn Rukia that he'd be going home and he was sure they'd done it but he really wasn't looking forward to Rukia's reaction.

"So you must be happy to see your family again, huh?"

Ichigo looked up to the window and gazed outside, thinking of seeing Rukia again. It'd be amazing to see those violet eyes again, to mess that black hair and laugh at her lack of height. Surely it won't be that bad. Hey, it might even be a good thing to change atmospheres and stuff…

Yeah right.

…

The apartment was dark, looking as though he'd left it just a day ago, not two years. The lights weren't turned on but he decided to leave them as that. First, he'd like to remember the place through his other senses, then sight.

(wow, he was feeling deep today)

"Ichigo, so you've come back."

And frankly, even before he could say 'oh shit', he found himself being kicked straight in the face, just like old times.

"YOU IDIOT!"

'_Home… sweet home…'_

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**Something to get myself in the IchiRuki mood once again. It's more of an Ichigo-centric but anyway, it'll have a continuation ^.^**


	6. The Connection

**that's what happens when I think too much about the fact that Ichigo and Rukia are always separated... :D :D 'shakes fists at Kubo-sama' **

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When they first met, the ribbon of her sword locked their hands and pushed them into an endless tango.

They didn't have the slightest idea what was happening at that very moment. Legs stumbled, hands were held too tight. Screams followed and the music was too muffled for their ears. Almost like two specters, their silhouettes moved in a disharmony on a floor neither of them could see.

And amidst a melody of shouting and whispering and hidden glances, they learned.

This strange _t__ê__te-__à__-t__ê__te,_ indiscernible and mystic and he would have said symbolic if he wasn't for that shit, changed them both. No longer independent dancers, each of them had to look out for the other and help him even if he stumbles. Despite their arguments, it worked.

Looking at her, he thinks of soap bubbles bursting, bright and intangible, and her heel on his foot.

Looking at him, she thinks of a hard shell that hides a gem and the rough rock of a precipice, sharing the hidden pain of the countless who have jumped off its edge.

He'd learned to hold on too tightly though.

The separation was all the more painful.

In the midst of a gentle sweep, a test of trust (because, even if they are great partners, it doesn't meant that they could trust each other), she was yanked harshly from his arms, leaving him only with the gentle glimmer of the white ribbon that once connected them.

(like a small feather taken away by the harsh northern wind)

Grasping at his only connection to her (_his lifeline_) he had tried to reach her but never succeeded. Once rapid movements lost their grace and his breath was stolen away, just like a stone statue. He was left alone.

Who knows how many sleepless nights he lay still, panting, trying to fill the void that had replaced the soft rhythm of her breathing.

But then, just then, he rose.

He rose, hell bent on finding her.

They had to dance. They were Partners. They were never to be kept away from each other.

And he searched and searched and fought and fought. And when he found her—

She felt guilty.

Her conscience was heavy, her steps were slow and clumsy. His eyes searched for hers but she never let them cross stares.

A dance with no passion.

His response: to crush her against his chest, hold her there, stop this madness of theirs and let his body be lulled by the soft music of her breathing.

He wanted to never let go.

But that could never be.

With a smile, she untangled herself from their embrace and winked at him before disappearing in the whiteness (like a feather just fallen off the wings of a young, young bird) and the promise to return one day.

A wave was the only indication he had noticed her little escape.

And he continued on without her.

Over the course of his so very short lifetime, they met and separated on more than one occasion. She had to go, he had to go. Theirs was a different world entirely.

But there was one thing he knew.

Even if she were away, they would never be separated. Even if she wasn't in his arms, she was still there, tugging at the pristine white ribbon.

It's all just a part of the dance.

…

…

…

_I've learned. Even if you aren't here, I will still breathe. Even if you aren't here, I will still live. I will still eat, I will still drink. I will laugh and cry. Nothing will change. _

_But I will wait for you. _


End file.
